I could walk 500 miles
And get my recognition
I could grow a pair or two
And choose my own religion
If I need to get ahead
I got my own way to meet the ends
And when the day is done
I choose whether to be coupled or one
But my virtue is only so clear
To whether I must do or die
And in the decisions I am forced to make
My judgment isn’t always right
Is it so hard to see my way?
To know what I’ve been subjected to
Or in some reeling light
What this race through time has put me through?
No, I’d hardly think so
But I, my friend, tell true
In my reason to be why
White girls can’t sing the blues
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
hey nice poem I like it big time